Friday 22 April 2016

On this day in 1953, Inchcock ran away from home. He took a carrier bag, bottle of pop and a bag of crisps with him. He got lost, the police picked him up and took him home, nobody had missed him, and he got a good belting for bringing the police to the house!

0600hrs: Sprang awake and for a moment thought I was still in the dream I was having, something about people chasing me through this old abandoned department store and throwing things at me as they did. No idea who they were. My legs fell off of the Ottoman they had been perched on as I lay in my vintage 1959 broken imitation brown leather armchair.

The realisation of how light it was indicated I’d overslept. Huh!

Then I noticed I was humming and singing to myself as I hobbled into the kitchen to put the kettle on (My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord). Had to divert to the WC throne niftily, and found Little Inchy was in a right state, matted blood needed cleaning and the lesion medicated. Haem Aroid was only leaking a tiny bit. The rumbling innards still there, but no worse than yesterday. The Ulcer was calmer too. Arthur Itis very good to me. Anne Gyna not so kind again. 

Back to the kitchen and took the photo above, made the brew and took my medications. Then to the laptop and finalised the Thursday diary and posted it off. What a day that was (Yesterday), hoping for better one today.

Prepared the vegetables for the Crock-Pot cooking and got them going on ‘Slow’.

I put plenty of baby carrots in, sliced a half of an onion, cut up some swede, used the last of the turnips and made some seasoned gravy to cover them with. Gravy powder, Bovril beef cubes, basil, rosemary, salt and a bit BBQ seasoning, stirred it and turned the power on. Cleaned the mess made, passed wind and shot to the WC and the porcelain throne. I wondered why the carrots stayed at the bottom of the pot?

Started working on a rhyming post, and the oddest thing occurred:  I got an attack of lackadaisicalness! I just turned off the laptop and sat in the vintage 1959 imitation brown leather armchair with the broken arms, and apart from forcing myself up to use the bathroom and do the cooking of the fodder and washing up, did nothing but nod in the chair and watch DVDs or telly for the rest of the day? No drive, compulsions or interest at all?

I didn’t feel ill or poorly, just so drained and restless while the brain seemed to go on vacation? I kept thinking of things that needed doing and felt guilty, but the body and mind were not interested in the slightest!

I thought at one time, this must be it, the end, a sense of the surreal and a not unpleasant acceptance of this at the same time overcame me for hours and hours?

Yet in the midst of all this mental confusion, I took the time to prepare what I thought might just be my last meal, with care and patience?

I know I’m waffling on about this, but it truly was like an out of body experience to me, like I was watching myself do nothing, and was totally unconcerned about it?

After having the fodder and doing the washing up, I returned to the chair and was still sat there trying to get to sleep well into the early hours of the morning. Then after about an hour of sleep, I sprang awake and pondered on the events, or rather non-events and weird happenings…

Oh, dearie me. Better mention this strangely lethargic session to the doctor on Monday? Humph!